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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29780943">glimpses✨</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxsake5/pseuds/foxsake5'>foxsake5</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>WTFock | Skam (Belgium)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:15:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,311</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29780943</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxsake5/pseuds/foxsake5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sander and Robbe. That's the plot. </p><p>A compilation of my drabbles, which mostly are about Sobbe doing basic shit and being in love, because that's my jam.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The bird outside the window</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>The bird outside the window</strong>
</p><p> </p><p><em>I’m all yours…<br/>
<br/>
</em>The first time Robbe said it, they were in Sander’s room and he was gently wiping wet, salty tracks from under Sander’s tired, tired eyes.<br/>
<br/>
Sander thinks he has shed more tears in this relationship than he’s done his whole life.<br/>
<br/>
He blames Robbe, with his soft, caring voice, his soft, caring hands, and his soft, caring heart. That frosty place deep inside him stands no chance. Since the day they met, it thawed, melted – bled – and there was a week after things had finally settled, the Christmas lights back in their boxes and the new medication like chalk and iron on his tongue, when for no apparent reason, he would start crying.</p><p>His toast burned. Utter shambles. A bird spreading its wings outside his window. Destroyed. Robbe on the doorstep, wearing the angel pendant over his blue hoodie. Game over.<br/>
<br/>
“Look who you’ve picked as your man,” he’d sniffled, curled up in bed, his pillow bunched up beneath his cheek. “Fucking pathetic.”</p><p>“Pfft. You’re amazing and you know it.” Robbe, curled up next to him, glowy and warm, smelling of his mum’s cinnamon rolls and fresh snow. “Everyone cries sometimes, it’s normal.”</p><p>Sander had whispered, “D’you?”<br/>
<br/>
Robbe smiled a little sadly and scooted closer to kiss his forehead. Sander held his breath.  <br/>
<br/>
“What does that mean?” he wondered. Robbe reached up to comb through his unruly fringe, the tips so blond they were platinum, his roots dark as coal.<br/>
<br/>
“Means I’ve cried over you like I’ve never cried before.”<br/>
<br/>
“Robbe…”<br/>
<br/>
“No no, ‘s okay.” Robbe bit his lip, hesitating. They were carefully navigating the aftermath of their whirlwind romance, the past two months so crammed with highs and lows that they had barely been able to sort out <em>what </em>and <em>who </em>they were.</p><p>Officially, Sander was Robbe’s boyfriend, and every inch of Robbe’s body was as familiar to him as a home. Yet, the boy lying in his bed was unmapped territory, his most private thoughts and feelings unexplored by Sander. Their souls were connected, but he wasn’t naïve; they had a lot to learn about each other.</p><p>If Robbe let him.<br/>
<br/>
Robbe could still change his mind.</p><p>“Don’t want to make you cry.” Sander decided to bridge the tiny gap Robbe’s pause had allowed to grow between them. Insecurity lingered, feeding into his self-doubt, but he ploughed through it. “I’m truly sorry. For everything. You deserved better than that.”<br/>
<br/>
Too little too late, though what could he do. Only hope. Always hoping. <br/>
<br/>
Robbe had studied him quietly for several, slow-ticking seconds. Then he’d offered a shy grin and snuggled up to Sander, tangling their socked feet and sneaking his arms around Sander’s waist. Tight. And buried into his neck, he’d confessed, “I’ll cry over you for the rest of my life. I love you, Sander. Your pain is my pain. Your happiness is my happiness. You’re mine and I’m yours. All yours. That’s just how it is.”<br/>
<br/>
Sander hadn’t known how much he needed to hear Robbe say those words. <em>All yours. All yours. I’m all yours.</em></p><p><em>For the rest of my life.<br/>
</em><br/>
<em>That’s just how it is.</em><br/>
<br/>
As simple as that.<br/>
<br/>
And Sander knew for sure. <br/>
<br/>
So, years later when he asks, the answer has already been given.<br/>
<br/>
He gently wipes wet, salty tracks from under Robbe’s pretty, pretty eyes, and it’s just them on a windy rooftop with Antwerp dazzling below, the moonlit sky rising above, and two matching silver rings.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Who knew oranges could be so personal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Who knew oranges could be so personal</strong><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Robbe likes the Driesens’ kitchen. It’s clean, warm, and homely, with a round table in front of a window facing the garden, a radio on the sill set on some vintage music station, and cherry wood countertops upon which he is currently sitting, dangling his feet, and watching Sander next to him pour pancake batter into a butter-sizzling pan.</p><p>He has lots of fond memories from here. Some of them make him blush; Sander can be quite persuasive, and it doesn’t matter where they are or who could walk in on them. Robbe adores him for that, though. It’s nice to be desired, and especially by Sander.<br/>
<em><br/>
His</em> Sander, the man of his dreams. There’s no doubt. And Sander knows it best.<br/>
<br/>
Robbe has an orange in his palms, and as he wedges a nail into its skin to peel it, the scent bursts from it.<br/>
<br/>
Oranges remind him of this kitchen. Sander’s mum keeps her fruit bowl filled with them, and she always presses one into his hands, telling him the vitamins are good for him.<br/>
<br/>
Robbe has started to buy oranges for him and his mama because of that. And also, so he can smell them when he misses Sander. He misses Sander a lot. He misses this, just them hanging out together, and how calm Sander seems to be whenever they can spend a Sunday at his parents’ house, sleeping late, coffee in bed, long, hot showers, maybe a trip outside to catch fresh air, and then family dinners, which had Robbe apprehensive at first but the Driesens have welcomed him with open arms.<br/>
<br/>
Today, the sun is hiding behind heavy clouds full of rain, and they’ve been extra lazy before deciding kisses and cuddles sadly wouldn’t sustain them and food was necessary. Sander is wearing his charcoal sweatpants and jumper, his brown hair a tousled, wild mess, and he is the softest boy Robbe has ever seen. <br/>
<br/>
“Hey, Robbe, check this,” he says, and confident that Robbe’s attention is on him, he wipes his fingers on the kitchen towel thrown casually over his shoulder, grabs the handle of the pan, and with a focused frown flips over the pancake perfectly, like some French chef on a TV-show doing it for the kids.<br/>
<br/>
Cute, and absolutely ridiculous.<br/>
<br/>
Sander sticks his tongue into his cheek and glides his eyes towards Robbe smugly, expecting praise.<br/>
<br/>
“Impressive,” Robbe comments in all seriousness, his thumb flicking away at the orange absentmindedly. “You’re a pro at that. Sure you’re not supposed to be at Le Cordon Bleu instead of the Academie? Wasted potential, if you ask me.”<br/>
<br/>
Sander snorts and turns off the heat. “You think I’m irresistible,” he murmurs, as if that was the point of it, and well, Robbe can’t disagree. Whatever he does, Sander looks hot doing it.<br/>
<br/>
Like earlier this morning, when despite being impatient and grumpy about it, he was changing the bedsheets. Robbe had plastered himself to Sander’s back and refused to let go, overcome with <em>feelings</em>. He doesn’t know why it happened. Maybe it was Sander acting responsible and grown up for once, which is a major turn on, or the fact that it was a glimpse of their future together. Robbe had kissed Sander’s neck and sneaked his hands down his pants, and Sander promised he’d forever change the sheets if this would be the price.  <br/>
<br/>
“And voilà,” Sander finally declares, as he adds the pancake to the plate where the rest of them are stacked. “Brunch is served, baby.”<br/>
<br/>
Robbe’s stomach growls. They’ve had a busy night and he is starving. He grins and jumps excitedly off the counter, ready to dig in. However, as soon as he passes by, Sander snatches his wrist to tug at him firmly, so they collide into each other. Robbe raises his brows in surprise. Sander wraps his arms securely around his waist, effectively trapping him against his chest. Not that Robbe is opposed to a hug, but…<br/>
<br/>
“Weren’t we going to eat?”<br/>
<br/>
With a twinkle in his eyes, Sander says, “Yep. Just wanted you to know that compliments to the chef are <em>highly </em>appreciated.” His smirk is positively lewd and if Robbe wasn’t somewhat immune by now, he’d be scandalised.<br/>
<br/>
“Okay, noted.” Robbe blinks up at him, lips twitching. He playfully bumps the orange he is holding against Sander’s collarbone. “Anything else, then?”<br/>
<br/>
Sander’s gaze drops to his mouth and instantly, the atmosphere changes, and Robbe wonders how. How can he be so addicted to Sander’s kisses that the mere implication has him weak at the knees?<br/>
<br/>
“No, that’s all,” Sander whispers, but he doesn’t move.<br/>
<br/>
Neither does Robbe. He doesn’t want to move. He tilts his head, lids drooping of their own accord, and he reaches up to cup Sander’s jaw. <br/>
<br/>
That face, that handsome, familiar face, with those impossibly dark brows and light, piercing eyes, the tiny scar, that beauty mark, his pink, sleep-puffed lips, and Robbe is on his tiptoes, needing desperately to taste him. Sander’s hands travel up Robbe’s back under his hoodie to get him closer, and Sander sighs, “Angel,” and Robbe surges up and captures it on his tongue. <br/>
<br/>
It’s a clumsy, eager kiss, both driven by some newfound passion between cracked eggs and spilled flour and half-peeled oranges and the mellow tones of Sinatra, and Robbe knows Sander’s parents are in the living room, that the pancakes will get cold, that they’ve kissed and kissed and kissed since they met up on Friday evening, yet he doesn’t care, and he can’t get enough.<br/>
<br/>
It’s several minutes later that Robbe returns to planet Earth. Or rather, it’s Sander that settles him back onto the steady ground, his grip loosening and his nose nudging Robbe’s gently for him to come to. Robbe pouts and Sander kisses him again as he helps his legs down, one by one. <br/>
<br/>
How they ended up making out against the fridge like a pair of hormonal teens, hips grinding, teeth biting, he can’t recall in the slightest. Sander has a habit of sweeping him off his feet and his brain has a habit of short-circuiting.<br/>
<br/>
“We should eat.” Sander’s voice is raspy, and Robbe groans. He can’t sit down in this state and have fucking Sunday brunch, and in front of <em>him</em>, as if totally unaffected. His heart is racing, and he’s… He’s into Sander, like for real.<br/>
<br/>
His fingers are still attached to Sander’s jumper, picking at the collar. On his throat, Sander’s pulse is fluttering, and Robbe wants to sink his mouth onto it and suck. “Can’t we go back to your room?” he suggests, hopeful that his puppy eyes will do the trick.<br/>
<br/>
Sander smiles sugar-sweet and leans in. “Oh, we will,” he whispers in Robbe’s ear. “I’ve got an assignment to finish, and didn’t you have that math test on Tuesday to practise for? We’ll be stuck inside my room the whole day, won’t we?”<br/>
<br/>
Robbe grimaces. “Thanks for killing the mood, man.” He pushes Sander off him. “Idiot.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m your idiot.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, and don’t you forget it.” Robbe huffs. He takes the plate of pancakes from the counter and brings it over to the table to plop it in the middle. Before he can sink onto his chair though, Sander beats him to it and gathers him onto his lap instead. <br/>
<br/>
Robbe glances down at him, at his proud, beaming expression, and can’t help letting out a giggle at how obvious it is that Sander has just been snogged absolutely silly. By him! Robbe ruffles through his fringe and plants a tender kiss to his forehead, feeling all kinds of sappy about it. “I love you, Sander,” he mumbles. <br/>
<br/>
“I know,” Sander replies, but his arms squeeze Robbe tight, and he hooks his chin on Robbe’s shoulder to get comfortable, and then they have their pancakes with syrup drizzled on them. <br/>
<br/>
Robbe feeds Sander sticky pieces of orange, licks the juice off his bottom lip and chin, and thinks that in their kitchen, there’s always going to be oranges too.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Team Sander</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Team Sander</strong><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Close your eyes,” Sander says quietly, and Robbe does, the world going a deep orange from the February sun peeking between the tall buildings on the other side of the river.<br/>
<br/>
It nicely warms his face, and for the first time since they left Sander’s flat, he feels human. Spending a weekend inside to cuddle and have sex is probably every teenager’s dream, but Robbe’s head was filled with cotton this morning and his sluggishness must have showed, since Sander unstuck from him, playfully smacked his butt, and suggested a Sunday walk.<br/>
<br/>
Sander likes walks. Robbe likes walks with Sander. They skipped breakfast and got sticky pain-au-chocolats and large coffees-to-go from the local bakery and then made their way to the harbour, hand in hand, only deviating into a few unknown streets to check for hidden graffiti gems.<br/>
<br/>
The entirety of Antwerp port is their spot, amongst a hundred other places spread across the city that to be fair <em>is </em>theirs, claimed from the rooftops last summer. Robbe vaguely wonders how vast their kingdom will end up being. Sander has mentioned Rome, and if Robbe’s suspicions are true, they’ll have conquered it by their next anniversary in November.<br/>
<br/>
For an hour and a half, they chilled out on a bench feeding each other crumbly pastries and simply enjoyed the view, as Sander called it. The view being Robbe himself, painted on a wall over at Waagnatie. It’s weird, but Robbe is pretty used to its existence by now, and he still absolutely adores the gesture even if parts of what it represents break his heart.<br/>
<br/>
Whenever he’s around here, he tries not to pay the mural much attention or he’ll get emotional. And so, as Sander talked, he had watched him instead. His own perfect view, with his dark fringe handsomely swept back and meadow-green eyes sparkling, a pink flush on the top of his cheekbones as he noticed Robbe staring, and that easy smile, which Robbe is so in love with, telling him Sander is the happiest and most relaxed he’s been in a while.<br/>
<br/>
When Robbe started to zone out of the conversation and wormed his cold hands underneath Sander’s jumper for body heat, Sander snatched them in his and dragged him to his feet to continue their walk, with an arm draped over his shoulders so he could tuck Robbe into his side and drop kisses to his temple as he pleased.<br/>
<br/>
Robbe linked their fingers and in return kissed Sander’s wrist, where it’s milky and soft and his pulse flutters delicately, and like that, they casually wandered along the Scheldt, a whole plan-less day stretching ahead of them.<br/>
<br/>
That is, until Robbe realised Sander’s mind was drifting, and as he tugged at the sleeve of his jacket in question, Sander sighed and let go of Robbe to pause directly in front of him, his expression revealing nothing.<br/>
<em><br/>
Do me a favour and close your eyes, baby.<br/>
</em><em><br/>
Why?<br/>
</em><em><br/>
Close your eyes.<br/>
</em><br/>
Inspiration often strikes Sander in moments like this, so Robbe ignored any hints of unease, felt the soles of his shoes firm on the ground, and did as he was told.<br/>
<br/>
Comes with dating an artist, he supposes, and a very persistent one at that, who has declared him his muse.<br/>
<br/>
Robbe has learnt to not be difficult about it.<br/>
<br/>
The minutes tick by, and he listens to children laugh and the familiar sound of skateboards rolling past them on the gravelly path. Birds are chirping from the trees in the park, and when he breathes in, the air is clean and crisp, and he can smell that spring is near - thank God, he’s ready to say goodbye to winter and move on to the last semester of school. Since he met Sander, he’s been eager for the future. It wasn’t always like this.<br/>
<br/>
On the gentle sea breeze, he can smell Sander’s cologne as well. Instantly, he wishes for Sander pressed flat against him so he can bury into the crook of his neck. There’s something so comforting about Sander, which he can’t imagine finding in anyone else, and the longing for it always hits him out of the blue, whether he’s in class, on the tram, at the grocery store, and even lying in Sander’s bed wearing his t-shirt, wrapped up in his scent. It’s a thought he hasn’t dared to think fully, but he does know what it means; he needs him.<br/>
<br/>
More than anything, he needs those strong arms holding him tight, and the promise that Sander is going to be there to take care of him forever.<br/>
<br/>
A couple of years ago, the shame that accompanied such a need was intolerable.<br/>
<br/>
Today, he’s reaching out for Sander, blindly grasping, and as he makes contact, bliss blooms and there’s no horror anymore, just pure relief at having <em>him</em> at his fingertips.<br/>
<br/>
“There you are.”  <br/>
<br/>
“Here I am,” Sander murmurs.<br/>
<br/>
“Have you finished taking your photos? Miss seeing you.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not-” Sander swallows. “Am not taking any photos.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh.” Robbe picks at the zip of Sander’s leather jacket and bites his lip. “Um, what are you doing then?”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m, uh, working up the courage.” Sander chuckles, bashful. “But you’re intimidating as fuck.”<br/>
<br/>
“What, that’s bullshit.” Robbe bursts into laughter and runs his palms up, up to where they can rest above Sander’s heart. “I’m the captain of <em>team Sander</em>, silly. And you literally had me on my knees last night, begging for...you know, whatever.” He blushes. “This is me, your clumsy boyfriend, who got chocolate stuck in the corner of his mouth and spilled coffee on your jeans. Hardly someone to be scared of, if you ask me. And you can ask me anything. You could <em>propose</em>, and I’d be down for it.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, actually...”<br/>
<br/>
Robbe curls his fingers into Sander’s jumper, nails digging in.<br/>
<br/>
“Give me your hand, Robbe,” Sander says softly.<br/>
<br/>
“…Sander?”<br/>
<br/>
“Just give me your hand.”<br/>
<br/>
“Which one?”<br/>
<br/>
“Either is fine.”<br/>
<br/>
Dumbfounded, he offers Sander his left hand, into which Sander shakily pushes something cool and metallic, and Robbe gasps, his eyes flying open.<br/>
<br/>
“Cutie,” Sander begins, all serious as if he has a speech prepared, complete with his brows drawn, but he doesn’t get to the second word because Robbe flings his arms around him and hugs him, the impact so sudden it drives Sander backwards.<br/>
<br/>
”Sander,” he whispers. “You idiot.”<br/>
<br/>
“I guess it’s a yes, then.” The cheeky grin is evident in his tone.<br/>
<br/>
In lieu of answering, Robbe nuzzles lovingly into him. The key is jagged and sharp, and the pain is a wonderful feeling.<br/>
<br/>
“This doesn’t mean you’re moving in. Be a good boy and listen to your mama.” Sander bows down to kiss his forehead. “But what it does mean, is that I love you. I love you so much, that what’s mine is yours, okay? Whenever you want, you can come over, even when I’m not home. You know, if you need to be alone for a bit, do your homework in peace, that kind of stuff. Feel free to knock yourself out. Clean my dishes, sleep in my bed, pet my cat.”</p><p>“You’re getting a cat now?”<br/>
<br/>
“Who knows.” Sander blinks innocently at him. Robbe has nothing to add, because Sander is full of surprises. The best surprises, and he can’t wait for a life of them.</p><p>He raises onto his tiptoes to meet Sander in a kiss, sweet and tasting of new hope. </p><p>“It’s not too much, right?” As Sander pulls back, he searches Robbe’s gaze. “You don’t have to accept it if you think I’m crazy stupid for having this idea. We’re practically living together as it is, but...”</p><p>“It’s not too much.” Robbe cups his jaw. “I like your ideas. Team Sander, remember?” </p><p>“Team Sander<em> and </em>Robbe, you mean.”</p><p>“Plus the cat.” Robbe smirks. He’s not convinced Sander isn’t joking.</p><p>“Sure. Team Sander, Robbe and Mercury.”</p><p>“Mercury? Not Bowie-related at all?”</p><p>Sander chucks Robbe under his chin. “Hey, don’t forget our Ziggy.” </p><p>“What a team.” Robbe kisses Sander again. </p><p>“What a team,” Sander echoes, and that, they are.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Blue flower</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Blue flower </strong>
</p><p><br/>
So, apparently, Sander is quite the nature’s man.<br/>
<br/>
Robbe is constantly surprised – and highly entertained, <em>and</em> endeared – by the multifaceted being that is his boyfriend.<br/>
<br/>
He watches him duck behind a tree and snorts. It’s hard to reconcile the boy lazily scrolling on his phone this morning with this explorer of the wilderness.<br/>
<br/>
They have spent the weekend with Sander’s grandparents, who live closer to Ardennes than Antwerp, where there are rolling fields of green stretching far into the distance and cows as the closest neighbours.</p><p>Other than saying hello to the cows while balancing on the fences with fistfuls of hay, the weather has been so shitty that they’ve enjoyed staying inside, playing cards in front of the fireplace and playing footsies under the table. But before dinner and the inevitable drive back home this evening, they finally decided to venture outside for “a brisk walk in the woods”. Those were Sander’s actual words, and Robbe couldn’t believe his ears when he heard them.</p><p>Firstly, a<em> brisk </em>walk? Sander must take after his grandpa more than Robbe had assumed.</p><p>Secondly, in the woods? Considering his lack of interest in helping Robbe revise for his biology exam, his allergy in spring, and sidestepping puddles to spare his precious Dr Martens, Robbe had pegged Sander as more of an urban jungle kind of guy.<br/>
<br/>
Turns out that his lovable fool was hundred percent serious, already pulling a thick wool jumper over his Bowie t-shirt, head appearing with his hair a tousled mess before Robbe even had the chance to finish his cup of tea.<br/>
<br/>
Robbe doesn’t own a single piece of sensible clothing, and he’d peeked out the window in dread and groaned. “It’s raining, Sander.” As much as he’s a fan of Sander’s ideas, he'd rather curl up on the couch, munch chocolate biscuits and watch Sander’s grandma knit while his grandpa grumbles about the football on the telly.<br/>
<br/>
“Fear not, baby,” Sander had proclaimed, and tugged a hideous long raincoat off a hanger.<br/>
<br/>
So, Robbe finds himself on a slippery path, his white trainers soaked, the legs of his jeans spattered with mud. His feet were too small to borrow any sturdy shoes, but Sander had heroically offered to carry him if need be.<br/>
<br/>
He seems to have forgotten, though. The briskness of this walk apparently entails Sander constantly dashing off with his waterproof camera clutched in his hands to snap photos of their surroundings. Robbe has his own hands stuffed safely into the pockets of his coat and can hardly see anything from below the miserable cap of his hood, raindrops dripping from it and annoying him. <br/>
<br/>
Still, it’s worth it for the sight of Sander 'rebel rebel' Driesen in a pair of green rubber boots and a brown Barbour jacket, complete with a tartan scarf, as if he’s some lord inspecting his lands. He talks about this place like he rules over every single twig, leaf and bush, and Robbe supposes he sort of does; from his understanding, Sander was a bundle of untamed energy growing up, so his mother let him loose here to roam free.<br/>
<br/>
His chest aches if he lingers too long on the image of little whirlwind Sander. Knowing how he struggled even then, he avoids it, or he'll feel like punching something. Or someone.<br/>
<br/>
He appreciates Sander bringing him to his childhood secret kingdom. It’s a charming fairytale gathering of pine trees, ancient oaks and moss-covered rocks, and a stream is trickling throughout it, adding a sense of serenity. He is low-key jealous of Sander having all this to himself, while he had to make do with the basketball court behind his apartment building. They come from the same city, but Sometimes Robbe thinks they are of different worlds. <br/>
<br/>
The air is fresh, and Robbe has to admit the nip to his cheeks is nice. Wakes him up. Though, he’s all the more excited for a hot shower, and he can tell he’s going to doze off in the car later, exhausted. Sander better not feel the need to blast his playlist and sing on the top of his lungs.<br/>
<br/>
“Look, Robbe.” Speaking of, said Sander returns from his mission and wraps an arm around Robbe’s shoulders. Robbe pushes back his hood, expecting him to show off a picture because there have been plenty taken, but Sander is holding out a frail bluish flower, plucked with its poor roots dragged from the soil, tiny droplets clinging to its shivering petals. “Isn’t it pretty?” Sander’s voice is so soft. “I think it bloomed too early, though.”<br/>
<br/>
“So you killed it.” Robbe grins wryly up at him.<br/>
<br/>
“What, no.” Sander frowns, dark brows lowering over his light eyes. “Oma will take care of it. It’ll love her kitchen. As much as you, I suspect.”<br/>
<br/>
Robbe pokes Sander in the ribs. It’s true that he practically moved into that kitchen as soon as they arrived on Friday. He just finds it so comforting, and Sander’s grandma, unlike anyone else he’s met in his life, has the patience to teach him how to cook. And he enjoys it, mostly because her presence feels like something he missed when he was younger. <br/>
<br/>
Yesterday, he even helped make cinnamon rolls, big and fluffy, and he couldn’t have been prouder of his achievement. Sander smiled so wide on his behalf that his eyes almost got teary, and it’s kind of embarrassing that they were having a moment while he stood there with his oven mitts on and Sander’s grandma bustled about in the background, but whatever. As long as Sander quietly kisses his cheek like that and lets his hand lovingly run up and down his back, Robbe will never complain.<br/>
<br/>
“Shouldn't we hurry back if we’re gonna rescue that little fellow?” Robbe suggests, hopeful, and he bites his lip in amusement when Sander delicately cups the flower towards him to protect it from the pesky wind.<br/>
<br/>
“Probably,” Sander agrees, and Robbe sighs in relief. He is cold and wet, knees knocking, and to be honest, as soon as the front door smacked shut, he was dreaming of Sander’s old, favourite hoodie, coffee with milk, and maybe a leftover cinnamon roll or two.<br/>
<br/>
Sander could also be persuaded to give a foot rub.<br/>
<br/>
Ugh, that'd be heaven, Sander's steady palms on his sore ankles, a cosy blanket draped over them...<br/>
<br/>
He's not going to lie; their walk has been fucking stressful, and it's a miracle he hasn't tripped over a tree root and smushed his nose into the dirt. <br/>
<br/>
Sander stares at him, and his mouth quirks up in a half-smile. “It reminds me of you, you know.”<br/>
<br/>
Robbe tucks himself further against Sander’s side as they start on the winding road back (thank God). “Of course it does, anything fragile reminds you of me,” he jokes, sending Sander a wink.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s ‘cause your coat is also blue. A total match.” Sander squeezes him a little. “And because it’s beautiful. The most beautiful thing on the planet, waiting to be found by me. What would have happened if we didn’t go on this walk, eh?”<br/>
<br/>
Robbe chuckles. “It would have flourished in peace, undisturbed by your troll hands.”<br/>
<br/>
“What if you didn’t go with Noor that night to spray paint those trucks?”<br/>
<br/>
“Sander.” Robbe nudges him fondly. “We’d meet either way. Somewhere. On that beach trip, at the skatepark, in a bar. Antwerp isn’t that big. This forest isn’t that big. You’d find me and that flower eventually.”<br/>
<br/>
“Could have been too late. This flower doesn’t last forever. You don’t last forever. It’s sad to think about.”<br/>
<br/>
“Let’s not think about that, then. We are here now." He turns to brush a reassuring kiss onto Sander's jaw. "But just so you know, barely,” he adds, and sniffles. “Fuck, I’m freezing to death. Why did I let you talk me into this?”<br/>
<br/>
“Sorry.” Sander actually does sound regretful, and Robbe looks at him. If Robbe is drenched, Sander is a drowned cat. His hair is raven black like his lashes, and that posh countryside jacket doesn’t do anything to keep him dry.<br/>
<br/>
They’re pathetic. <br/>
<br/>
Robbe bursts into laughter. “Sander, I love you, and I’m laughing on the outside, but this really isn’t that fun anymore.”<br/>
<br/>
“I know.” Sander pouts. “What do I owe you?”<br/>
<br/>
“If we survive, I just want to lie in bed with you and hug you super tight for the rest of the day.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh. I’d like that. Maybe a kiss too?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah. Kisses are chill.” <br/>
<br/>
“Kisses are chill.” Sander brightens, and despite the odds, it sparks a sudden glow within Robbe. “And, ah, maybe some fooling around under the sheets?”<br/>
<br/>
“We’re not fooling around at your grandparents’, Sander.”<br/>
<br/>
“We’ll see about that, Robin.”<br/>
<br/>
“Don’t you dare try anything. We’re being respectful. It’s a concept we’ve discussed, remember? Back in Antwerp, tho…” He tilts his head to lift his eyebrows at him meaningfully. <br/>
<br/>
“Uh-huh, in the car <em>on the way </em>to Antwerp, you mean.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh my gosh, Sander, babe, why are you like this?”<br/>
<br/>
“I have no shame,” Sander answers readily, and Robbe has to giggle. It’s the truth.<br/>
<br/>
“Careful what you say in front of our innocent flower.”<br/>
<br/>
“Shit, you’re right.” Sander darts a comical glance down to check on it, and if Robbe wasn't an ice tap, his heart would melt to his toes. <br/>
<br/>
"You're cute," he tells him instead. "Don't get too attached, we're leaving in a few hours."<br/>
<br/>
"Haha." Sander rolls his eyes. "It's just a flower."<br/>
<br/>
"It's a pretty flower."<br/>
<br/>
With a lopsided grin, Sander leans closer, ever the charmer. "Yes, but I get to take the prettiest one with me home."<br/>
<br/>
Robbe doesn't feel at all pretty trudging through the woods in an oversized raincoat, his fringe plastered to his forehead, his teeth clacking, as hell pours down.<br/>
<br/>
But he basks in the cheesy compliment and wraps both of his arms around Sander's waist, mindful of the flower, even if it makes it clumsy for them to move.<br/>
<br/>
And back inside the blissful warmth, clean and weary, they cuddle in bed as the smell of homemade cooking wafts through the floorboards from the kitchen, where the flower flourishes in a crystal vase.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm happy I found you," Sander whispers. <br/>
<br/>
Robbe hugs him - <em>super tight -</em> and Sander gets his kisses, and if they do fool around a bit under the sheets, it's no one's business but theirs. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The loveliest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>The loveliest </strong><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The sheets are cool and soothing against his sore limbs as he slowly comes to, does a small stretch of his spine and then blindly reaches for Sander’s pillow next to him to wrap it in a tight embrace.<br/>
<br/>
God, it smells nice. He rubs his cheek over the soft cotton. Still warm.<br/>
<br/>
Daylight on his face teases him to blink open his eyes a little. The window is angled to let in much needed fresh air, and the delicate, white curtains drift apart to show dove grey clouds hanging low and heavy over Antwerp. Rain. He inhales deeply and can taste the wet asphalt and dewy grass.<br/>
<br/>
Sander wanted to do some sketching in the park today, but he can forget about that now.<br/>
<br/>
For a few minutes, Robbe simply lies there in the middle of the bed, curled up and quiet, listening to the muted sounds from the outside world and the grinding of coffee beans in the kitchen. He smiles, contemplates getting up to slip on Sander’s discarded work shirt and go wish his boyfriend a good morning – already impatient to see him, though he knows Sander will come climbing back on top of him soon.<br/>
<br/>
It’s Sunday. Sander is never in a hurry on Sundays.<br/>
<br/>
And they have no plans, the flat is theirs, and as raindrops hit the windowpane in quick, gentle tip-taps, they’re given the perfect excuse to be lazy teenagers and just stay inside and enjoy each other’s company.<br/>
<br/>
Like they would have done anyway, Robbe suspects, and winces as he slightly moves his legs. He is in no shape for any of Sander’s walks, and Sander definitely owes him a massage.<br/>
<br/>
Ruined, that’s what he is. But in the best possible way, the satisfaction a purr in his chest.<br/>
<br/>
It’s a long time since it felt like this; as complete, <em>enough</em>.<br/>
<br/>
Robbe sighs and settles comfortably into the mattress and pulls the duvet up to his chin. Enveloped in crinkled lavender, he has to chuckle at the memory of their failed team effort at changing the sheets at the crack of dawn, both exhausted and giddy and fumbling so much that they might as well have been drunk, one of Sander’s eyes tiny and cute as he squinted over at Robbe like a true pirate and declared, <em>Fuck this fucking shit.<br/>
<br/>
I hate it here, </em>Robbe had agreed, momentarily regretting being the champion in this relationship for showers and clean sheets after sex.<br/>
<br/>
Somehow, they managed to sort it out, if not neatly, and finally he fell, and Sander followed, his weight familiar and welcoming, and they succumbed to the alluring darkness without another thought.<br/>
<br/>
He doesn’t know how long they’ve been knocked out for. Judging from the lack of traffic, it’s still relatively early.<br/>
<br/>
Well. That’s certainly a thing they bond over: screwed up sleep.<br/>
<br/>
Sander jokes that he based his instant attraction on the shades of purple under Robbe’s eyes.<br/>
<br/>
At least, spending their nights together helps, even if Sander has an incorrigible habit of keeping Robbe occupied. He always leaves Sander on Sunday evenings happier and more relaxed than when he arrived.<br/>
<br/>
There’s a light knock on the doorframe. Robbe turns carefully to see Sander lean against it, casual and handsome, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and… Robbe’s mouth curves up in an appreciative grin. Bare chested, the love bites he's left on him on shameless display.<br/>
<br/>
If he wasn’t busy admiring Sander, he’d probably blush. Presented with the evidence, he can’t actually believe his own audacity. Sander drives him wild, there’s no doubt about that. <br/>
<br/>
Sander’s answering grin is slow, burning, and Robbe is glad he's already lying down, dizzy from it. “Hi, baby. Just checking that you’re awake.”  <br/>
<em><br/>
Baby.</em> In Sander’s ragged, low voice, it does something to Robbe that makes him shiver all over with tingles.<br/>
<br/>
What a dream.<br/>
<br/>
His dream.<br/>
<br/>
Robbe flops onto his back with his arms resting above his head, fingers curled loosely. His too long fringe sweeps across his brow to tickle his nose, and he hides a pleased smirk against his shoulder when he notices Sander’s gaze flick down his body in interest. Butterflies stir in his stomach at that look. He licks his lips. “Come over here?”<br/>
<br/>
“Wait, hold on.” Sander shoots him a wink and disappears, and Robbe misses him for two, five, ten, <em>fifteen </em>seconds before he reappears, holding a tray.<br/>
<br/>
Robbe scrambles to sit up nearly too fast, stars exploding in his vision, a twinge flaring up his side from the sudden movement. Their last meal was an embarrassingly late lunch consisting of snack burgers and champagne, of all combos. And after, everything is a blur of hot mouths and wandering hands and <em>Sander, Sander, Sander.</em> <br/>
<br/>
Clothes strewn across the couch, the carpet, in the hallway leading to Sander's room. <br/>
<br/>
Gasped <em>I love yous</em> in his ear.<br/>
<br/>
A break, ice water and a shared joint. Bowie on vinyl, Sander leaning back in triumph with his thumb stroking Robbe’s thigh, grip firm, as Robbe cited the lyrics. Sander watched him through hazy, heavy-lidded eyes, and when the tension got unbearable and Robbe’s mind drew a blank, he cheated and kissed him, oh, he kissed him, kissed him until he couldn’t breathe and the universe tilted, and he was on his back with Sander above him, dangerous and divine. <br/>
<br/>
Dinner was a concept entirely lost on them. Robbe doesn’t blame his past self; he was fairly distracted.<br/>
<br/>
“You’re a fucking <em>God</em>,” he announces, the flutter of butterflies replaced by growling hunger.<br/>
<br/>
“God, king, hero, genius, <em>daddy</em>… I must be cherished to have so many names.” Sander’s smug tone is insufferable, and if he wasn’t carrying <em>food</em>, Robbe would have aimed a pillow directly at him.<br/>
<br/>
“Tsk. Don’t forget idiot.” Sander snorts at that. “And sap,” Robbe adds, staring pointedly at the postcard-sized drawing of a dainty blue flower on his plate. Their blue flower, from last weekend.<br/>
<br/>
Picking it up as Sander sets the tray on the nightstand, he runs his fingertips over the fine, elegant paper. It’s a botanical rendition like those in his biology textbook, with Latin words in loopy print pointing towards roots and leaves and petals. “This is very pretty, Sander.”<br/>
<br/>
Sander shrugs. “Just a little thing I did while I was dying of boredom waiting for you on Friday.”<br/>
<br/>
“I like it.” <br/>
<br/>
Sander joins him on the bed. Robbe doesn’t scoot back to give him space. He wants them close, as close as this, with their shoulders and elbows and hips touching, and Sander nuzzling his temple a bit. <br/>
<br/>
Robbe glances over at him. “Is it for me?” <br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, of course. Always for you,” Sander murmurs, and his lashes dip as pink blooms on his cheeks. “You know, Grandma says it’s alive and thriving in her kitchen. That’s cool, right?”<br/>
<br/>
“That’s cool.” Robbe places a sweet kiss to the corner of Sander’s upturned mouth. “Thank you, you’re lovely.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m lovely?”<br/>
<br/>
“Mhm.” Another kiss. “So, so lovely.” <br/>
<br/>
“Keep going.”<br/>
<br/>
Robbe cups Sander’s face to make the third kiss linger. “The loveliest,” he mumbles.<br/>
<br/>
Sander hums. “I can live with being the loveliest.”<br/>
<br/>
“Okay, king.”<br/>
<br/>
“That too.” Sander laughs.<br/>
<br/>
Robbe wraps his arms around his neck, needs to treasure that laugh while he has the chance. He bends his knees under him and presses their chests flat together.<br/>
<br/>
“Hey, breakfast is served,” Sander whispers, amused. “Your coffee is getting cold.”<br/>
<br/>
“I know… Just. Just hold me for a moment.” <br/>
<br/>
Sander’s arms come around him and his hands spread warm and wide on his lower back, where it hurts, to bring him further onto his lap. His mouth opens on the hinge of his jaw, teeth grazing. “I do as you say, Robin.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. A boy named Milo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>A boy named Milo</strong>
</p><p><br/>
Robbe swings open the door and Sander isn’t ready for the sight that greets him, or the warmth that instantly spreads from his chest to his fingertips and makes him desperately long to be a part of this picture.<br/>
<br/>
It’s a new sensation in his young life, hitting him out of nowhere, and he has to grip the doorframe to compose himself.<br/>
<br/>
“Hi.” Robbe’s cheeks are rosy and dimpled, and his carefree smile reaches his eyes, which glitter like stars from under his fringe. Sander wants to put his hands on his waist, nudge him with his nose, and kiss the sweet corner of his mouth.<br/>
<br/>
But he knows he won’t be able to stop. <br/>
<br/>
His gaze meets Robbe’s briefly, before Robbe’s dark lashes dip and he’s glancing off to the side. <br/>
<br/>
“Say hello to Sander, Milo.” His voice is kind. Then that sweet corner twitches up into a playful smirk, and Sander really, <em>really</em> wants to kiss it now, baby be damned. “I promise he’s not as scary as he looks.”<br/>
<br/>
A small fist unclenches from the front of Robbe’s green jumper as Robbe gently coaxes the boy on his hip to give Sander a tiny wave.  <br/>
<br/>
Milo isn’t more than two, Sander’s been told. He’s wearing a bunny pyjamas - complete with a white ball of fur on his bottom - and has his little feet tucked into a pair of fluffy socks. With his sleepy Bambi eyes, pink pout and soft brown hair curling over his almost elfin ears, he’s definitely a mini IJzermans. Sander suddenly wants to impress him, he just doesn't know how to talk to a child. So, he waves back at Milo and offers Robbe an awkward grin when Milo hides his face shyly in the crook of Robbe’s neck, where it’s safe.<br/>
<br/>
Robbe chuckles. “It’s okay, we’ll get there.” He pats Milo soothingly on his back and sends Sander a wink. He radiates happiness and comfort, and yellow light from the hallway behind him floods over his shoulders to where Sander is standing; welcoming him inside, into his <em>home</em>. And fuck, Sander’s nerves are jittery, because, because... Because what he’s seeing from the shadowed doorstep is a glimpse into a future he craves. <em>Their</em> future, and his heart wants to leap towards Robbe holding Milo in his arms, both tousle-headed and mellow after the busy day they’ve had, and protect them at all costs.<br/>
<br/>
“C’mon, stranger.” Robbe quietly tugs Sander across the threshold by his belt. “We’ve waited for you, but I’m afraid it’s past someone’s bedtime, so you’ll have to save your Bowie introductory lesson for tomorrow.”<br/>
<br/>
Sander snorts. “Why do you make it sound like I’m the bad cop?” <br/>
<br/>
Robbe tilts his chin up. “I’m speaking from experience, don’t pretend you went easy on me in the beginning to give me your stamp of approval.” <br/>
<br/>
“You were clueless, space cowboy.” Pleased that Robbe hasn’t moved yet, he leans in to steal a kiss from him, quick and adoring. “But you already had my stamp of approval all over you, baby, from the second you sprayed a smiley onto the truck and the moonlight shone down on you.”<br/>
<br/>
Another kiss - lingering, insisting - and Robbe hums in appreciation. Something deep in him stirs, and sighing, Sander reluctantly pulls away. There’s a toddler peeking at him, curious who this weirdo crashing his party with his fave cousin is, and he has to shove that untimely need firmly back down.<br/>
<br/>
“Cutie,” he murmurs, reaching out to tap Milo’s nose. Milo goes cross-eyed and giggles. Sander feels like he got a stamp of approval of his own.<br/>
<br/>
As Robbe turns, mumbling about brushing teeth, changing nappies and fairytales, Sander kicks off his boots and shakes off his leather jacket. He sets his green bag on the floor and in the mirror above it, he quickly fixes his hair. It was a windy walk from the tram stop, and he practically rushed out of his evening class at uni, eager to get to Robbe’s place as soon as possible. <br/>
<br/>
On the kitchen table, there’s a sticky mess of blueberry yoghurt and toppled-over bottles and scattered spoons. He cleans up, and when Robbe eventually joins him, slightly worse for wear, he’s adding the second grilled cheese sandwich to the pan. Robbe groans and calls him his hero, and takes a sip of his tea before he just rests against Sander, boneless, cheek on his shoulder, and allows his eyes to drift shut. <br/>
<br/>
Sander tucks an arm around him, squeezing. “The babysitter invited his boyfriend over, hm? What will the parents say?”<br/>
<br/>
“Shut up.” Robbe hugs him back. “It’s a matter of survival. Milo is a handful, not gonna lie. I need your help.”<br/>
<br/>
Sander nuzzles into where Robbe’s skin is soft and warm behind his ear. He smells faintly of baby powder and milk. God. Makes him sick with longing. He can’t <em>deal</em>. <br/>
<br/>
“Please have my babies,” he whispers into Robbe’s temple, not sure if it’s loud enough. Not sure if he wants it to be loud enough.<br/>
<br/>
Robbe laughs and it’s familiar and beautiful. “Dork. You’ll have to try really hard, then.”<br/>
<br/>
“Is that a challenge?” He swallows. This isn’t a joke. He’s surprised to find exactly how important this is to him. Essential. “’Cause I’m up for that, you know.”<br/>
<br/>
Robbe doesn't comment, only hugs him tighter. The clock on the wall ticks slowly. Sander flips the croque, and he can't quite read what the silence means.  <br/>
<br/>
What a ridiculous idea, he starts berating himself. Family. It’s too early in their relationship to fantasise about that, and who’s he kidding, it’s not as if he’s capable of--<br/>
<br/>
Robbe’s fingers brush over his jaw to make him look at him. He’s got a purple blueberry stain on his collar, smudging onto his throat. Somehow, Sander wants to cry. <br/>
<br/>
“I’m up for that, too.” Robbe stretches onto his toes, and his promise is a tender kiss to Sander’s lips. “As long as it’s with you, I’m up for anything.”</p>
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